Emma stood in the center of the gallery and couldn't breathe.

Her paintings hung on white walls under soft lighting. Strangers moved between them, glasses of wine in hand, voices murmuring. She'd created this. Every canvas. Every brushstroke. Every piece of herself she'd thought Daniel had killed.

But he wasn't here.

The thought kept circling. Daniel wasn't here.

"Mom." Liam appeared beside her, tall and serious in the dress shirt she'd ironed that morning. "Stop ...